


Ignis Internum (The Fire Within)

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Season 7 Enemy Mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I love the bones of this man. I love his big, vulnerable heart and his bright, generous soul. And I'm so fucking grateful he's remembered that he loves me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignis Internum (The Fire Within)

Funny how a hit of Daniel eases the pain in my shoulder faster and more successfully than a syringe full of the infirmary’s finest.

He looks tired, slightly dishevelled and restless. Blue eyes are shadowed and he’s moving slowly, as though every step is an effort. It’s been a tough mission, but he’s won through again. Averted a war. Helped commonsense prevail. Achieved the objective. He’s done what he does best; better than anyone else. He pays a price though, every fucking time. Every mission takes something out of him now, even the successful ones.  Descension hasn’t made it all magically better, has it, baby? Did you really think it would?

“Pain in the ass but well worth it, huh?” he says wearily, leaning heavily against the kitchen door jamb. He’ s been here two minutes. I’ve been home for 24 hours, sent packing yesterday against my will with a bag of pain meds. I’ve worried about him and missed him every second. Handing him over to someone else’s command does not sit well. I include you in that, Oma, by the way. If you’re listening. If you care.

I don’t dignify his question with an answer, just smile the smile I know he loves and leave the witty rejoinder unspoken. I chug some orange juice and lean back against the sink. I need a beer.

“Do you describe me that way to every mission commander I have to work with?” He crosses his arms, which makes him look defensive. That combined with the distinct edge to his voice. Maybe he’s still not certain of his place in the complex dynamic  that is the SGC. Maybe he’s still finding his way. Maybe I should ask him. We haven’t talked much since he came back. Not really. Not the heavy stuff that we both avoid like the plague.

“Actually, I don’t usually say anything. Just let them discover the joy of commanding you all on their own. Edwards was different. I’d seen the two of you butting heads already, and he’s as resolute and by the book as they come. It was merely a way of urging a little patience.”

I watch while Daniel logs the information, processes and moves on. He stifles a yawn. It’s getting late and any minute now he’s going say ...

“I should get back soon.” Blatantly ignoring the fact that’s only been here for upwards of 120 seconds.  I do take comfort in the fact that he wants to be here, though, for however long.  My home is still where his heart is. “I have an early debrief with Hammond and Vidrine. Thought I’d contact Edwards beforehand. See how things are going. Maybe head back through the Gate. The situation was still a little tense when I left, despite the accord. It wouldn’t take much for the whole situation to blow up in our faces. There’s  a lot at stake. For all involved.”

Over my rotting corpse is he going back. He’s  spending tonight in my bed and in my arms. End of discussion. “Daniel, let Edwards do his job and let things settle. You can’t be there every time there’s a disagreement or a hiccup in protocol.” Even though you want to be and it kills you when you can’t.

Still want to save the universe and make everything right, eh, Daniel? That much hasn’t changed. That need has intensified, maybe.  I think.  World-weariness and pragmatism nothwithstanding.  Wonder how you reconcile that? You _are_ more intense. More introspective. More _you,_ in a lot of ways, I guess.

Daniel shoulders hunch up somewhere round his ears. He’s tense. He gets like this post-mission when he feels there’s still more he can do. He’s itchy, can’t settle, despite being out on his feet. He tires more quickly than usual these days. I wonder sometimes if his body is still set to Ascended time. If, in some ways, he’s never really fully come back.

“You did good, Daniel.” A little positive affirmation never goes amiss I find, even with someone like Daniel, who’s never needed validation or praise. Except, sometimes, from me. 

He did good despite going off with Chaka alone and unarmed (T is a mine of information.) I need to talk to Daniel about that later. Possibly loudly.

It  occurs to me that I said those words to him before, years ago, when the Tollan became reluctant SGC house guests. Daniel, all floppy hair and intense idealism, defied Maybourne on the Gate ramp and saw Omoc and co safely on their way with Lya. I was so fucking proud of him that day. Practically ran into the Gateroom to tell him what a great job he’d done. Couldn’t take my eyes off his shining face. Wanted to hug the stuffing out of him. Wanted to do a whole lot more but couldn’t and wouldn’t.  I have a feeling I let way too much show that day. I remember the silent, meaningful look T shot me when we left for debrief. Inscrutable bastard has always been way too clever for my own good.

 _“You did good, Daniel ...”_

And suddenly, right out of the blue, right here in my kitchen, dressed  in old sweats and wearing a sling on my arm and feeling 70, I have one of those moments. One of those intense, breathtaking, beautiful moments when you are reminded with a sharp, desperate clarity why it is you love someone. Such moments are rare but they’re blinding in their impact. They stab your heart, make it flutter in a cardiac arrest kind of way. Make your gut lurch and your soul sing.

I love the bones of this man. I love his big, vulnerable heart and his bright, generous soul.

And I’m so fucking grateful he’s remembered that he loves me. And I’m so grateful that he still loves fucking me.

“Maybe you’re right. Chaka was going stay around for a while, be a buffer between Edwards and Iron Shirt. Help things along. I think they’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.” He nods. I’m not sure if he’s trying to persuade himself or me. But I don’t need persuading. Daniel’s done his job.

He goes quiet for a while, frowns a little, then focuses concerned blue eyes on me. “Does your shoulder hurt? Dumb question. Of course it hurts. Does it hurt much?”

“Nope.” Yes. Hurts like a son a of a bitch, but if I tell him that, tonight will be all about me and I want it to be all about him. “Thanks to the Doc, I’m feeling no pain.”

He nods again, and this time can’t stifle a jaw-cracking yawn. I don’t think he even heard me. He’s way past listening and responding on any meaningful level, even though his head is still full of Unas and ignorant military assholes with no respect for archaeological sites or other species’ traditions. His phrase, not mine. He’s glorious when he’s pissed. And he _was_ pissed when he used those very words in the privacy of the command tent out of Edwards’ earshot.

“Want something to eat?”

Daniel shakes his head and pushes off from the door frame, eyes the coffee machine covetously but sadly, knowing it’s out of bounds when he’s this wired, and runs a hand tiredly through his hair.  I recognize the gesture as mine. It makes me inordinately happy. He’s remembering the important stuff. The personal stuff.  The ingrained on a cellular level stuff. “I grabbed a sandwich with Teal’c before I left.”

If he stands there much longer, he’s going to fold, and I’m about to tell him just that when he turns tired eyes on me and says,  in a quiet, soft voice that is just this side of needy, “Just take me to my happy place, Jack. Please.”

By the time he chokes out the last word, I’ve already got him half-way there.

 

ends


End file.
